


I'm Making a Career of Evil

by cherishiggy



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Asphyxiation, Barebacking, Breathplay, Choking, Creampie, Electricity Play, Electrocution, M/M, Mild Bodily Fluids Description, Mild Trauma Description, PWP, Sadomasochism, featuring my bullshit attempts at dialogues and dirty talk, how tf do you call that, y'know just thunder boyfriends things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 12:22:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20582429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherishiggy/pseuds/cherishiggy
Summary: A spy is discovered one afternoon in Groznyj Grad, so Volgin's itching for inflicting some violence. And Raikov's itching for some good dicking.





	I'm Making a Career of Evil

**Author's Note:**

> Annnd here we are, my first fic that I've ever posted on here! Plus, it's my first explicit-rated fic to boot, wowie, look at me go. Writing porn in your non-native language is so much easier. TAKE IT. THIS FUCKIN' THING HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY DRAFTS FOR SIX MONTHS. YEET.
> 
> I've included a short glossary at the end, btw, check it if you need to!
> 
> The title is from [Blue Öyster Cult's "Secret Treaties"](https://youtu.be/fqjBFc39xl4). Been listening to this album a lot lately, and I find that line fitting, though a little on the nose.

The routine in Groznyj Grad often trudged in circles and, thusly, repeated itself. Fish Thursdays, with their seafood smell not airing out of the mess hall for a couple of days and the bitter flavor of walleye pollock soup staining the grunts' mouths for nearly a week. Daily drills, with every soldier washing their tel'niks afterward. Weekly scientist roundup and progress checkups. The only variables to this formula were harsh weather fluctuations, occasional supply deliveries, and his dear Volgin.

Major Raikov's day was dedicated to make itself worse from the very beginning. The tin of condensed milk that was saved up for him at the mess hall had pulled off a disappearing act, and Volgin had an urgent matter to take care of, so Raikov was deprived of morning sex. And now, he was bored as hell. That was bad news for everyone, both for Raikov and for poor Groznyj Grad's soldiers that happened to cross paths with him.

And just when he thought the day was going to get only worse from now on, while patrolling the East Wing, shooting sharp glares this way and that at anyone who dared to hold eye contact with him, Raikov overheard murmurs of a spy in their ranks uncovered by Volgin himself. Since he got the news from the hushed whispers of his subordinates and not from major Ocelot, it was fair for Raikov to assume that the spy had been caught red-handed fairly recently, too - could've been a mere couple of minutes before, even. Which might explain him not getting an official report on the occurrence just yet.

Leveling the closest soldier to him that had already jerked up a hand in a salute - Zvyagintsev, Raikov's mind helpfully supplied, has particularly sensitive cheeks, which makes them the perfect place for major to strike in case he's ever in the mood to - with a stare, Raikov snapped:

"Were you present in this wing when the spy had been uncovered? Where did the colonel drag the spy off to? The torture chamber?"

Clearly taken aback by such an unexpected question, the soldier opened and closed his mouth a few times, his superior's icy gaze momentarily stunting his mental capabilities, "Y-yes, sir! Degtyarev has been taken to the torture room, sir!"

Lips spreading in a venomous smirk at the promise of a good afternoon show, Raikov backhanded Zvyagintsev's cheek once, twice, three times with the back of his gloved hand. A faux thanks that major had shot to the soldier over his shoulder, turning on his heels, were the only signs for the poor soul that his superior was done with him, for now, at least.

It had been a while since they had any fresh meat for the prison cells. This is going to be a welcome addition of spice to his bland routine.

Raikov made a beeline through the tarmac-laden parking, zigzagging between parked vehicles, still in a veil of their hibernation. Sticky pollen and the smell of reawakening soil permeated his every sense known to mankind. Despite hailing from Siberia - born and raised, in fact - Raikov didn't favor winter much, preferring spring in its stead.

He hummed a simple tune under his breath - a song that was on and off on his mind for a couple of days. "Идёт солдат по городу", was it? He'd probably have to ask Volgin to sing along to that one, once they hear it again over the crackly radio that God knows how managed to catch the signal even in the middle of nowhere. Zhenya has a wonderful baritone even if he didn't let it loose to sing that often. That fact made Raikov appreciate the rare occasion even more.

Open the door, make a sharp turn around the corner was all he needed to do to spot the rusted door leading to the torture room. Pained whimpers were already leaking from the inside, shaking up the few prisoners they'd had in Groznyj Grad, who, unluckily for them, had survived the colonel's treatment. But for Raikov's ears, the sounds were not unlike an orchestral performance, so nuanced that one would most certainly have to be a connoisseur to appreciate the sweet melody of torture as he did.

Not caring for interrupting the colonel in the slightest, Raikov helped himself into the bloodstained room and closed the door, its hinges squeaking. The only indication that Volgin had noticed him entering was the millisecond side-eye glance, and then the man's attention snapped back to the spy. The spy himself, it seemed, wasn't too happy with Volgin's backup making an appearance, and thrashed his tied up body about to express that sentiment.

Well, it's not like the major would help out with such an intimate process without permission first. That would be quite rude.

Giving the spy a once-over — Degtyarev, if his memory served him right, though that fact wasn't of utmost importance now - the major thoughtfully hummed and circled him like a vulture. The spy's build was all lean muscle, something not much of the whole lot had in common. Spies were also the ones most resilient to torture, compared to, say, a common runt, that is to be expected. Their captive's wrists weren't purple from the cord yet, the skin wasn't ripe with blood rising to the surface. So all that means the torture has just begun, and Raikov would get more of his little private show.

Settling his back against the wall and crossing hands on his chest, Raikov soaked up the sight of Volgin methodically pacing back and forth, for now content with listing all of the spy's affiliates. Apparently, this "Degtyarev" fellow was gathering intel for quite a few big wigs, too. Luckily, the first and, coincidentally, the last radio transmission this underseasoned spy had sent under the guise of reconnecting with the family — no doubt, it would later be received by another spy and then sent to Khrushchev's underdogs — was intercepted. "Degtyarev" should have known better, really, the colonel himself checking through the outgoing contents of every means of communication before sending them on their way was a standard procedure for Groznyj Grad. If only this newbie had been more cautious...

A snap and the air in the room was full of ozone scent indicating Volgin wasn't happy with the spy's lack of response. "Degtyarev"'s body contorted, pale blue shocks running through his limbs, and a shriek reverberated off the walls, ringing in Raikov's ears.

"Well, comrade? Care to share your real name so I at least would be able to do you the honour of addressing you properly?" spat Volgin, deep shadows settling in the creases of his scarred cheeks.

Silence.

So, a challenge, then, wonderful. The colonel did enjoy breaking someone with a semblance of a backbone in them. Volgin charged up the bullets that were now fit snugly between his fingers and aimed the first electricity-laced strike at the tortured's solar plexus. The next two punches were to the both of his sides, the spy's immobilized body swinging from side to side as he coughed up a mix of blood, bile, and spit that poured down his neck from under the black polyethylene sack.

A feeble wavering tone then croaked out, choking on bodily fluids, "Va- Vasiliy Pupkin, sir."

The colonel's eyes closed to a razor-thin slit as he ground out, voice low, "You are a soldier of Groznyj Grad no longer. I don't want to hear you address me with that mouth of yours. I am now the one who will make you see hell firsthand, remember that."

Lack of response seemed to indicate that Pupkin was afraid of angering his captor further. Good. The colonel didn't appreciate his subordinates talking back to him, much less his prisoners. The only one who was an exception to that rule was Raikov, and he made sure to thoroughly use that loophole.

Volgin, meanwhile, continued speaking. "Such defined physique you have. Though I wonder, is your sturdy body paired with a sturdy mind to boot? What would happen if a current of electricity ran through a bare nerve of yours? Think you could handle that?"

His questions rhetoric, Volgin got ahold of the spy's right biceps and firstly popped the hand out of its socket. Then, when the weak, choking whimper of protest had died down, Volgin secured the elbow with one palm and squeezed the upper arm tightly with the other. It had taken a few silent seconds filled with Volgin's muscles giving their best, and then the spy's humerus shattered with a sickening crackle. The limb now limply hanged from the cord tied to the ceiling, not supported by its torn surrounding muscle. Pale white of the broken bone peeking from under the skin made Raikov bare his teeth in a grin.

Volgin wasted no time and dug his gloved fingers into the open wound. Meticulously sorted through muscle fibre, till his search proved fruitful when the spy's clenched jaw hung open with a shriek. That shriek gained even more volume as Volgin sent a shock after another through the bare cord of a nerve. Sharp, chlorine-like smell crept through the air in thick layers.

Out of all the nature phenomenons, sometimes Raikov saw it more fit to compare his lover to a hungry shark's honed sense of smell than thunder that always struck true. A shark that is hot on the trail the second it catches wind of the tiniest amounts of blood in the murky waters. And for Volgin, the blood was fear - the way the black sack with punctured holes hung over the tortured's head increased its' movement, indicating hyperventilation and heightened heart rate, the tiny trembles shaking the person's limbs at the smallest sound, all these small signs were rousing his colonel up in the best possible ways.

Volgin sneered in satisfaction, cheeks twisting. "Now, I want you to answer me with your damn mouth. Why did Khrushchev's lapdogs send you here?!"

The spy went momentarily mute from the pain shock, head hung low.

"Major Raikov. Hand me that bucket over there".

The colonel's word sharply cut through the fog in the spy's head by the looks of it, as he regained his will to speak again, making muffled protests against the sack on his head. He'd caught on to what would happen if he were to be doused with water and then stricken with a heavy-volt discharge. Anything, _anything, just no more electricity, please, dear God_ —

"Huh. Ready to spill the secrets?"

The pensive silence hung in the air momentarily as the spy was once again torn between betrayal and suffering through a nerve-frying shock, the sound of gears turning in his head at a top speed clearly heard by all present.

Discontent with even the smallest amount of hesitation, Volgin barked: "Major, give him the bucket!"

Obliging with a smirk on his face, Raikov doused the spy with a rush of chilly water. And now, here comes the best part —

— with yet another snap an ear-piercing sound came out of the tortured's throat, Raikov unable to categorize it as any of the ones known to man. But yet so delightful, it sent a trail of goosebumps down his spine. And down the front too. With a slight hesitation, Raikov noted how his pants felt just a little bit tight. Well then. Not that this reaction was all that unusual for him, but he still felt a slight pang of shame, throwing a glance at Volgin examining the tortured and judging his condition. Seems to have passed out, a common end to the torture, though his muscles still reflexively twitched here and there from the discharge. That just means the colonel will get to take his sweet, sweet time with the spy next time. Content, Volgin turned around and took in Raikov's form.

"How expected of you to get aroused from just _that_, major".

Raikov scoffed and peeled himself off the cement wall, playfully drawing out, "Come now, Zhenya, you couldn't possibly think I wouldn't at least be excited. Didn't you see how his entire upper body went taut with the slightest amount of electricity? How the outline of his mouth was visible through the polyethylene sack? Such a good boy. By the by, I've got a riding crop I've been itching to put to use. Will you let me play with him next?"

With a glint in his eye, the colonel huffed fondly: "But of course, Vanyusha. Otherwise, you'll pester me until you have it your way. But only till I decide what to do with him next."

Laughing, Raikov draped his arms over his lover's shoulders, "What can I say, I always get what I want sooner or later. Now, would you mind giving me a hand with this?"

"Right here? Think we won't disturb the traitorous pig?" A sardonic note in his tone.

"Mm... Not that I care. I think it's only fair he would enjoy a show of his own, too, don't you agree?" Raikov eyed the spy that began to come to and stir in his restraints.

"Hmph. I suppose. Though be sure to take your sweet time with him afterwards, after all, it would be distasteful of the pig to not pay for his entertainment."

And with that, Volgin looked around until he found a wall that was tainted with less gore than the rest, and braced Raikov against it. While this wasn't going to be the most comfortable quickie of their life, it'll have to do, since both of them didn't exactly feel like finding a more fitting place.

Undoing the tie snaked around Raikov's neck with his teeth and snapping his olive coat open had pretty much become second nature for the colonel. Raikov's combat boots, meanwhile, proved too tricky for him to simply kick off, so he unlaced the top, and only then did the offending piece of footwear agree to be set aside, near his coat and folded pants. Volgin's coat was set nearby, folded with belts on top.

Standing on the cold cement floor with his socked feet sent chills rushing through Raikov, but he waited through Volgin slicking himself up with bated breath. Then, deeming the process complete, without any warning, Raikov jerked his left foot upwards, then the right one, hooking them around Volgin's hips. Volgin took the hint swiftly enough and pressed him further into the wall. Luckily for them both, Raikov gripped Volgin's hips tightly enough to hold himself in that position, but Volgin still voiced his displeasure, grousing:

"One day you're gonna make me topple over, or at least fall yourself because of those tricks of yours, Vanya."

Raikov dignified the grumbles with a wet kiss into Volgin's carotid, momentarily disrupting his action of maneuvering the string of Raikov's thong that cut off the access to his entrance.

Raikov revelled in Volgin's momentary misery, smiling in that obscene way just to rile him up, to quicken up the process. And Volgin took the bait willingly, thrusting into Raikov in one powerful slide.

Granted, Raikov was pretty stretched out during yesterday's fucking, but the strain still squeezed the air out of his lungs as he felt the recoil deep in his insides. His tightened throat gave a pathetic whine. However, Volgin refused to have mercy on major's protesting body, deigning to give it ten generous seconds and resuming hammering inside the major. Raikov didn't plead for him to go easy, he never did. He just kissed the small blue tangles of electricity off of Volgin's lips between his breathy gasps, careful not to open his mouth much. Getting a zap to the tongue wasn't all that pleasant.

This position being quite the rare one in their mutually-up-to-no-good repertoire, both the colonel and the major had to adjust on the fly. Volgin had yet to find a satisfactory angle, a way to redistribute his weight on his feet to pound Raikov like he was used to, and both of Volgin's hands being busy holding his hips tight didn't help that matter at all. Then Raikov perhaps shimmied his hips somewhat, Volgin didn't catch what did he exactly do, just the fact that the heat of Raikov's body now enveloped his cock much better and made the thoughts go jumbled. Seemingly sharing his sentiment, Raikov hissed a breath between his teeth, gave a light peck on Volgin's scarred lips as if to silently ask him to try this angle. Well, Volgin was happy to oblige.

Pressed into the concrete wall, with his ankles against Volgin's backside, Raikov didn't have much wiggle room. So he continued to aid his lover with the few ways he could, giving sharp nips to Volgin's neck and shallowly thrusting his hips back into the motion. Not for the first time Raikov was grateful for Volgin's sturdy build, as well as for the strong hands keeping his body upright and pressed into the wall. Raikov's legs were already like sacks of factory-fresh leaden bullets, and he doubted that would change with the steady onslaught of pleasurable jolts of sensation.

"Zhenyechka, come now, you know I can take more than that."

"Hurting you more than needed is the least of my priorities as of now."

"Don't give me that. Ne vo vsyakoi tuche grom, a i grom, da ne gryanet, a i gryanet, da ne po nas, a i po nas, - avos', opalit, ne ub'yot, as they say. I'll be okay. Let loose." And an added drawn-out moan afterwards for better conviction.

With a low sound, Volgin tore into the flesh of Raikov's throat and gripped harshly with his teeth, using it as another leverage to time the thrusts better. A keening whine of encouragement wasn't enough for Volgin, no. He squeezed his jaw just so, looking to break the skin, and gave out sharp sparks into Raikov's freshly forming wound with his canines like some sort of mythological beast. A jerky jolt of hands around him made Volgin raise his eyes, just in time to catch the blissful grimace on Raikov's face, eyebrows scrunched and teeth dead-set into lower lip. Now that's more like it.

Volgin revelled in the sensation of the slight tang of blood burning his tongue, Raikov's thighs clenching around his hips, the sharp thrusts of a rock-hard cock against his shirt. Raikov had no means of escape, could only stay there, pinned to a wall with barely any means of purchase, and take it. Despite this arrangement being entirely mutual, the thought still spurred Volgin on as he slowly upped the ante, chasing after the delightful heat that boiled his brains to denaturated protein.

However, Raikov wasn't planning on just submitting without a fight, making up for the restrained state with sharp tugs of fistfuls of Volgin's shortly shorn hair and open-mouthed wet kisses that raised blood to the surface. Enjoying his competitive spirit, Volgin changed the angle of the thrusts yet again as a means of payback, and one more time, and once more, until his search proved fruitful —

Raikov's hooded eyes holding the color of an afternoon long anticipated now were no more than a tiny slit, foggy with bubbling desire. The thunderous jangling of chains intensified behind them —

The pounding of blood filled Raikov's ears with each heave, the gravity pulled him down on Volgin's cock and making it hit that spot again, and again —

Raikov's eyes went wet from overstimulation now, the concrete rubbed through his shirt, the short electricity bursts made his eyes roll into his skull, so he clung onto Volgin's back for dear life and babbled nonsense, swears and encouragement alike into a clothed shoulder, leaving spots glistening with saliva where he bit into the rough fabric.

Another particularly well-aimed discharge and Raikov's head collided so hard with the wall, it made his vision blur momentarily. That would probably become a swelling bruise the next day. His colonel altered between grunting sweet nothings and sucking on the soft, feverish skin. Volgin added even more oil into the flames of Raikov's arousal by snaking a gloved palm around Raikov's jugular and squeezing in time with the rolls of his hips.

Raspily, Raikov grit out, "Zhe- Zhenya, dear, come on, I'm- I can't- _ah, _blyat_'_ \- come on, fill me like the good cumdump I am- 'm close-"

With breath caught in his throat, Volgin murmured into Raikov's lips, tone low, "Vanya, I'm going to come r-right into you". Amused by his colonel's ability to still form a somewhat coherent sentence on the brink of orgasm, Raikov tightened his entrance muscles, intent on milking Volgin of all he could give. It was a simple feedback loop of take pleasure-give pleasure, and, hips stuttering, Volgin filled Raikov to the brim with liquid warmth, mouth opened in a silent groan. Ridges of his gloved palm still held an unwavering grip of Raikov's throat. Heavens above and hell below, Raikov was going to scream. He was so close...

"Zhenya-a-ah, c-come on..."

Thinking it best, with what few remnants of his working brain he had left after coming, to pull the major down onto the folded uniform to finish him off, Volgin did exactly that, slowly lowering both his and Raikov's body by bending his knees and settling onto his haunches. Unforgiving latex of the red glove still bit around Raikov's neck as Volgin put his ass down on the clothes. Needing a small breather, Volgin pressed his warm forehead to Raikov's. Mindlessly, he sneaked the other red palm around Raikov's still weeping cock. The thought of pulling out hadn't crossed his mind, Vanya liked the feeling of fullness, even when it's flaccid.

Seems he'd made a right, if unintentional, choice in the way of bringing Raikov over the edge, thought Volgin to himself, as Raikov grit his teeth and hugged Volgin by his neck, breaths hissing. Slow, mindful strokes made Raikov jerk his hips, an impatient sound rising in his throat. Quicker strokes had Raikov make raspy moans, hips thrusting in pursuit of the impending release, jaw quivering uncontrollably.

Mentally smirking at the hungry jerks of Raikov's hips and light linen strands flowing every which way around them, Volgin flicked his wrist just so, brushing a thumb over the head and smearing pearls of precum on the warm latex of the glove. Raikov's lips, battered by the harsh mountainous climate, spilled groans and guttural swears alike. His eyes fluttered open from the harsh treatment, and he tried to hold eye contact with Volgin, their faces separated by mere centimeters, tried to tell Zhenya to hurry, it almost hurts, but the iron grip on his throat felt so good and so deliciously tight —

Then a full-body shock frizzed Raikov's hair and tipped him right over the edge. The sharp hoarse howl that ripped out of his throat made the jangle of the chains behind them rival the volume of a banshee's screech. Volgin hummed, appreciative, right into Raikov ear, burning it with scalding puffs of breath, not worried in the slightest about the racket.

With that, Raikov's limbs finally betrayed him, giving out, as if lack of release was the last anchor that had kept them under control. Pleasantly full of cum and buzzing with afterglow and remnants of electricity, Raikov sighed blissfully, leaning his lust-heated body onto the cool concrete of the wall. Zhenya knew how to make it good.

As a way of showing gratitude for a good fuck, Raikov held eye contact with Volgin once more, light eyelashes trembling from exhaustion and covered the red hand, now untangled from the expanse of his throat, with one of his own.

"Feeling okay, Vanya? You always get dizzy after choking. Need a breather?" assessed Volgin, wiping out his glove with a pocket handkerchief and examining Raikov's stomach for traces of cum.

"Yeah. Ju's a lil' longer. Got to regain back the brain matter you have fucked right out of me". A laugh smothered in the crook of Volgin's neck, then a tired nuzzle.

Overcome with an unnatural burst of emotions, Volgin pressed his forehead against Raikov's once again, to remind Raikov he was there, to ground him back into reality, latex-covered thumb mindlessly petting his cheek while the rest of the fingers lay warm on Raikov's jawline. Raikov, in response, nosed the red palm, affectionate as always in his afterglow.

Spending a couple of minutes letting Raikov get ahold of himself again, Volgin firstly pulled out of Raikov and neatly tucked himself back in his pants. Wiped his gloves once more. Then, in an afterthought busied one of his hands with the idle twirling of Raikov's strands. They were almost transparent in the semi-dim orange light of the torture chamber. Despite knowing Raikov always kept his mane in as perfect of a condition as being cut off from civilization could allow him, Volgin still took satisfaction in carding the smoothness of his gloved fingers through the major's hair. No tangles, of course. Raikov groaned in appreciation as those fingers took to rubbing his scalp instead, nearly succumbing to Morpheus' embrace on the spot.

A few minutes of quiet more, and a gentle slap came to Raikov's cheek, prompting him to open his eyes.

"Major, come, collect yourself, set an example for our men."

Raikov hid his face in the olive breadth of Volgin's shoulder. A grumble was huffed into it, sending a small rush of warmth through the fabric.

"And to make the chore by faster, I have a jar of gooseberry varen'ye for you. Special delivery."

The way Raikov's muscle gathered itself in a moment, the flurry of his linen strands when he whipped up his head to look his colonel in the face, the excited twinkle in his eyes all made Volgin give an exasperated but no less fond snort.

"We'll leave showing the pig to his new residence to the cleanup crew. Let's go get that wound of yours disinfected and clean ourselves up," said Volgin, eyeing the red teeth outline on Raikov's throat.

Raikov carefully maneuvered his cum-stained thighs around the uniform pile, smiling to himself. God, he didn't look forward to the dull pain of a hard fuck to settle deep in the muscles, but a good bath and some tea with varen'ye are always what one needs to remedy that nonsense.

**Author's Note:**

> A little cultural glossary:
> 
> Zhenya, Zhenyechka - diminutives of "Evgeny".
> 
> Vanya, Vanyusha - diminutives of "Ivan".
> 
> Vasiliy Pupkin - a Russian analogue of John Doe.
> 
> Ne vo vsyakoi tuche grom, a i grom, da ne gryanet, a i gryanet, da ne po nas, a i po nas, - avos', opalit, ne ub'yot - roughly "Not every raincloud carries thunder, if one does, perhaps it won't let it loose, if it does, perhaps it won't hit us, and if it does, perhaps it will lightly burn, and won't kill."
> 
> Blyat' - swearword that's along the lines of "fuck".
> 
> Varen'ye - a Russian jam analogue, with a more runny consistency.
> 
> Also, I know that Fish Day was made official again only in '76, I just wanted to bitch about how horrible walleye pollock is, shush.
> 
> ***
> 
> So, this fic is pretty much a self-indulgent headcanon galore. I just wanted to write some nsfw stuff, and adding torture to the mix seemed like a perfect idea. Just thunder boyfriends things, y'know. But it's still up to you guys to decide whether I've succeeded in portraying those assholes. I especially wasn't sure of the way I wrote Raikov, dude has, like, two lines total in the game. I like the idea of him being a sassy, sadistic, somewhat spoiled but capable bratty twat, but I do understand if this portrayal's not someone's cup of tea. So yeah. Tell me what you thought about my experimental fanfic or if you've noticed any mistakes, especially on the medical/biological side of things. Or if I waxed poetic too much. Or if the nsfw part of this fic's too cold and stiff. I appreciate any feedback. 
> 
> I highly doubt a man as emotionally calloused and sadistic as Volgin could love someone. Express the emotions I portrayed here. And that Raikov's and Volgin's relationship would be as caring. But it's bittersweet to think otherwise, and so I tried my hand at an almost sweet dynamic between those two, however unrealistic. Eh.
> 
> ahhhh i'm probably overthinking all this, adding heaps of unnecessary sentences, restructuring the entire flow of the fic yet again and shit. phew, I'm gonna calm down and press the "post" button. I won't be able to make this any better than it already is.
> 
> And, hey, if you, for whatever reason, want to drop by my tumblr, I'm [cherishiggy](https://cherishiggy.tumblr.com) on there, too! Have a good one ✨


End file.
